Quid Pro Quo, Detective
by the moon and the stars
Summary: "Are you sure, Detective? We're already down the rabbit hole, yes, but there's still opportunity to climb out before you hit bottom. There aren't many who behold the true face of the devil and smile about it after."/ In which Lucifer and Chloe attempt to solve the mystery of each other. Post-1x02.
1. Thin Ice and Serious Heat

**Quid Pro Quo, Detective**

 **Summary:** "Are you sure, Detective? We're already down the rabbit hole, yes, but there's still opportunity to climb out before you hit bottom. There aren't many who behold the true face of the devil and smile about it after."/ In which Lucifer and Chloe attempt to solve the mystery of each other. Post-1x02.

 **Disclaimer:** Still don't own Lucifer :(

 **A/N:** I was absolutely blown away by the response to my first Lucifer fic, so the pressure was on to get this one right. Especially because I decided to do Lucifer POV this time around. Keeping my fingers crossed that I'm doing him justice…

* * *

 **Chapter 1: Thin Ice and Serious Heat**

Leaning against the bar, tumbler in hand, Lucifer smiled. He could sense the change at once, the rousing prickle of anticipation. Lux swarmed with the usual crowd of human miscreants and thrill-seekers and still he would have picked her out easily. Even if she hadn't completely abandoned her penchant for skulking about in dark corners.

"Evening, Detective," he tossed over his shoulder.

"What the hell did you do to Jimmy Barnes?"

As far as greetings went, he felt she could have aimed a bit higher.

"That maggot? Nothing he didn't deserve." He kept his tone as indifferent as hers was insistent, if only because he knew how it would rankle her. "But I believe we've had this little exchange before. Though perhaps you were too doped up on morphine to remember."

"No." He heard boots clomping closer. "No more deflecting, no more cryptic remarks. I want straight answers this time, Lucifer."

"Now I know we've had _this_ conversation." He downed what remained of his drink before swiveling to welcome his guest. Were it not for the sling on her arm, no one would know she had been in a recent, nearly fatal shootout. She stood tall, eyes sparking like flint against steel, boasting all the authority her little badge granted her. "Actually, Detective, what you want are rationalizations. A way to explain away the truth. Sorry, my dear, but I happen to be a huge fan of candor, fidelity, and the like. Got the motivational poster on my wall and everything."

"Lucifer—"

"You've seen something, haven't you?" So had he: her certainty fracturing beneath the bold exterior. "Poor Jimmy not adjusting well to life in the loony bin, is he? Straitjackets and padded cells not his forte? Oh, don't tell me he went and found religion. Leave it to the boring, rank-and-file villains to be so depressingly cliché."

The detective was close enough that, even over the booming bass of the nightclub's atmosphere, her low rebuttal was perfectly audible. "You know exactly what I'm talking about."

He didn't deny it. "And you feel sorry for the maggot, is that it?"

"Jimmy's a killer and a slimeball, but he was _sane_. Now he's… a mess. Completely unhinged. That doesn't just happen. You did something to him while I was passed out. I know you did."

"Alright, I confess—I did it." He held his wrists up, submitting to her mercy. Not that handcuffs worked. Not the kind used in law enforcement, anyway.

When all he got in return was a deepening scowl, Lucifer redirected the gesture, making a grand, sweeping motion at the surrounding den of iniquity. "Do you need it in writing, Detective, or will all these fine witnesses suffice?"

Something in her face changed. Something maddeningly obscured by strobe lights dancing across her features. A mild softening of sorts—though he could no sooner account for the cause than he could for the reason why this vexing woman so eluded his grasp in the first place.

Then her eyes fell and left him utterly blind. When they lifted, ensnaring his again, they were blazing. Full of raw, unmitigated passion.

Marvelous.

"You know what your problem is, Lucifer?"

"If I did, I wouldn't be in therapy, now would I?"

She ignored that. "You're so damn arrogant that you think you're not going to get caught."

"On the contrary. I keep waiting for you to make good on that bit. Don't blame me because you're a bit slow."

She inched forward, chin lifting to meet his towering height. "I've been dealing with men like you my entire career—"

"There _are_ no men like me," he was quick to point out.

"—and I will figure out the truth. I will figure out who you really are and what you did. And then I'll throw your ass in jail."

"Well, that would be a terrible waste of the taxpayers' money." His attention returning to the bar, Lucifer made to pour himself another drink, mildly deflated at the onset of yet another recycled conversation. With two closed cases under their belts, he rather hoped they had progressed past trust issues and idle, petty threats.

Nonetheless, he raised his glass in her direction. "But I look forward to watching you try, Detective."

Without another word she turned and fled the scene, bothered but undefeated. Lucifer couldn't help but feel a twinge of disappointment at the abrupt surrender, however temporary.

Which prompted one final shot. "Be sure to convey my regards to the maggot next time you visit, will you?"

The detective didn't break stride as she wove through the thick, writhing crowd. Lucifer couldn't be sure she'd heard, but of one thing he was absolutely certain. She would be back.

He just didn't expect it quite so soon.

* * *

Long after the last of the club's patrons trickled through the exit, rounding out yet another evening of deviance and debauchery, Lucifer found himself still at the bar. The smile he'd worn hours ago had long since faded. He didn't care to dwell on the reason why.

Fate, however, had other plans.

Behind the bar, Maze made a show of tidying her station. Despite the fact that it was left in pristine condition when the last of his staff departed, he knew his companion well. It was a transparent attempt to displace frustration, to keep from speaking her mind. Not that she channeled much effort into the farce.

"How long are you going to keep entertaining your human pet?" she asked, point-blank.

"As long as I please." Lucifer's gaze was sharp when he looked at her. "And like Lux, this subject is closed."

"What do you think is going to come of it?" she persisted. "Even if you manage to discover whatever pathetic secrets lie in that fragile human heart of hers, what then? You'll use them to bond over your own growing feelings of humanity? And what will _she_ think when she wises up to who you really are?"

His glass protested under a punishing grip. "Thin ice, Maze."

"I'm worried."

Spoken in a different voice altogether, the confession dispelled a fraction of his irritation. Lucifer found himself giving her words far more attention than they deserved.

"You _are_ changing and not for the better. I look at you and I barely recognize the man I followed through the gates of hell. The man who burned wicked souls to ash without hesitation because it's what he did and it's what they deserved. Remember who you are," she urged, "and forget this idle distraction. Or I swear she'll be your ruin."

Before he could fire back, Maze muttered "incoming" with sudden rancor, already making herself scarce.

A second later Lucifer knew why.

Boots marching across the empty dancefloor trumpeted the new arrival like a pre-battle fanfare, and déjà vu aside, Lucifer would have recognized that resolute gait anywhere.

"Bit of a late night for you, isn't it, Detective? That eager to pick up where we left—" His voice cut out when he turned around.

Because he was staring down the barrel of a gun.

Well, _that_ was a twist.

Against all odds, Lucifer found himself appreciating her uncharacteristic flair for the dramatic. The sheer absurdity of their circumstance was a delight he hadn't seen the equal of in ages. "Like to just skip the foreplay altogether, do you? Straight to the main event? Respect." More sincerely, he nodded at the gun. "You know that won't work on me."

She cocked it as though accepting a dare. "Only one way to find out for sure."

Lucifer's gaze never wavered, far less interested in the weapon than its wielder. "Now what could I have possibly done in these last few hours to incur such ire?"

"I'm sure I could come up with something," she said flatly. "But really it's just that if I'm going to commit a felony, I don't want a room full of witnesses."

"An audience not your particular kink, is that it? Speaking of which…" His voice rose as he addressed the figure lurking out of sight, but whom he knew hadn't missed a thing. "Maze, take a walk."

To his surprise, his subordinate obeyed without argument, though her scoff hid not one ounce of her disdain. No doubt he would get another earful later.

Then, to the woman packing some serious heat, Lucifer offered his most winning smile. "Very well, then. We're alone, and the floor's all yours. So what can I do for you this time, Detective?"

"You can hold still."

And then she pulled the trigger.

* * *

 **A/N:** So yeah. Chloe certainly brings new meaning to the phrase 'shoot first, ask questions later,' doesn't she? If you've seen the 1x04 promo, then you know that's nothing new. Not sure if I'm more pleased that I totally called that plot point, or a little put out that I didn't crank this chapter out before it aired. I had it mostly finished, but not quite. And of course the new episode was a bit distracting…. Eh, whatever. There's more where this came from, probably around 3-5 chapters total, so let's just settle in and enjoy the ride!


	2. Biblical Bombshell and Sobering Suggesti

**Chapter 2: Biblical Bombshell and Sobering Suggestion**

Lucifer caught the bullet in his left shoulder, the impact thrusting him back into the bar, but he recovered quickly enough.

"I cannot believe that you just—" He straightened, inspecting the wound with unnecessary precision. "— _ruined_ my new suit. It's _Armani_." He concealed no part of how utterly scandalous he found the crime.

The detective, for her part, looked even more stunned than he was.

"Why didn't you _move_?" she demanded.

Lucifer pinned her with an incredulous look. "Aside from the fact that you deliberately told me not to?"

"You can move fast," she practically accused him. Her eyes were wild behind her weapon, which hadn't lowered an inch. "I know you can. I saw you when Nick shot at Josh, you were across the clearing in an instant, but I just… I couldn't make heads or tails of how you did it. And then I saw Jimmy, and he kept saying these things, calling you the _devil_ , like you've been boasting, but I never actually _believed_ , not until I—and you—"

Oh bloody hell.

"So I'm out a couple grand because of some failed science experiment?" he sighed. "Hate to break it to you, but I'm not Superman. 'Faster than a speeding bullet' isn't part of my tagline. Thank goodness." He glanced at his shoulder again, mournfully. "Seriously, Detective, that's a fine piece of artwork you just blew away. You can inform the LAPD that they'll be receiving my bill."

She wasn't even looking at him; her eyes had zeroed in on the article in question. "No bullet wound," she whispered.

"That's right, and before you ask, no, it didn't ricochet off me like the Man of Steel. Through and through, like a champ. But feel free to frisk me again for Kevlar, if you like." She was shaking her head, still trapped in disbelief, until finally he took pity. "Right, then. I suppose we're due for a proper chat, you and I. Drink?" he offered, indicating the bar. "You missed last call but I suppose I could scrounge up something for one of LA's finest…. Civilian-shooting notwithstanding."

Only then did the detective exhale and lower her gun, which, all in all, was probably the wisest decision she'd made all night.

* * *

"Well, I hope you're happy," Lucifer told her several minutes later. The pair had seen little progress in the time since, despite the two shots he'd already served her. "On top of everything, that shot you fired also cost me a rather expensive bottle of bourbon. Did you _have_ to aim for the good stuff?"

He had been angling for his customary disarming wit, since the detective usually couldn't resist taking the bait. This time, however, she seemed hell-bent on keeping him in the dark.

This wasn't going as smoothly as he'd hoped. His shrink seemed to take the devil bombshell well enough, certainly better than most, though she still maintained the illusion that he was speaking through some theological metaphor in order to explain a much less cosmic identity crisis. That, and the carnal benefits more than compensated for whatever veracities she might have discovered since.

Perhaps the good doctor wasn't the best yardstick, then.

Lucifer reached for the bottle. "Another?" He didn't wait for an answer.

"Okay," the detective accepted without looking up. "Okay."

" _Are_ you, actually?" He leaned forward, peering at her across the bar. "You're not about to have some sort of psychotic break, are you?" He wanted to affect her, yes, but reuniting her with Jimmy Barnes in _that_ capacity was hardly what he had in mind.

Her chest heaved with visible effort to come to grips. He'd be lying if he said he didn't appreciate the view. "I'm just… readjusting my entire worldview, that's all."

"Try yoga. I'm told it's terribly relaxing."

Still she didn't look at him. "It's true, then. You're… him. You're actually _the_ Lucifer." Then she downed the third shot.

Lucifer poured another, enjoying the awed undertones of her realization. "Finally caught up with the rest of the class, have you? I suppose better late than never. Yes, Detective, it's true. All of it. Well, except for all the bad PR," he revised, thinking back to the third-rate, sideshow charlatan he'd punished only yesterday. "Salem witch hunts, Nazi Germany, Simon Cowell…. Honestly, you humans are quite adept at creating your own devils without handing me all the credit."

She nodded dully, the greater complexities of the English language still eluding her. Lucifer savored the advantage like a fine wine, though it was slowly dawning on him that his palate was changed. Truth be told, he vastly preferred her pointing a gun at him. "I have to say, Detective, this is hardly the gritty interrogation I was expecting. Far be it from me to keep you in suspense. Go on. Ask your questions."

That got her attention. Her head snapped up, and those eyes—he was gratified to see they had regained a spark of their former fire. In them he caught a glimpse of the secrets she kept tucked away, far beyond the reach of his powers of persuasion—buried treasure taunting him beyond the flames.

"However," he amended, suddenly inspired, "this Q&A is a two-way street."

"Meaning what?" she frowned.

"Meaning you give me a glimpse behind the Great Wall of Chloe Decker, and in return I'll give you a peak at the goods. _Here_." He tapped his forehead. "Rare, exclusive offer. Serious buyers only. Interested?"

She sat up straight, looking genuinely tempted for the first time in their acquaintance. The sight nearly gave him pause. Such a strange thing, how forfeiting a piece of control to the one who made a consistent habit of seizing it gave him such a thrill. Something to ponder on Dr. Martin's couch, he supposed.

The detective quirked a brow. "'I'll show you mine if you show me yours'?"

Lucifer beamed, both at the allusion and at the fact that she was clearly taking everything much better in stride. Not to mention the hunger he read in those eyes. He recognized it. She wanted answers as much as he did. "Couldn't have said it better myself."

Hunger faded to suspicion as she thought it over. "You're serious?"

"Of course. You're insatiably curious, I'm insatiably curious…. Could be the deal of the century for both of us."

"So—what? We just trade questions, no tricks?"

He made a show of crossing his heart. "Scout's honor."

"If you're so curious," she pressed, "why not just pump Nick for Intel again? Figured you two were pals now."

"Oh yes, we're about to build a clubhouse, get matching tattoos, that sort of thing." Lucifer rolled his eyes. "It isn't just your salacious hot tub history I'm interested in, Detective. Besides, I'd rather get answers straight from the source, not from the vermin of the world. I imagine you feel the same. Unless you actually _do_ plan on conveying my regards to Jimmy?"

Still, she stared at him with such unmasked skepticism that it bordered on offensive. "How do I know I can trust you?"

"Well, unless you have a magic eight ball stashed somewhere, you don't," he said simply. "Or perhaps it would help if I swore on a stack of Bibles?"

"I'm serious, Lucifer."

"As am I." And this time, he was. "Honestly, you act as though I haven't been trying to spoon-feed you the truth all along. It's _you_ who's the closed book. So if anyone's getting the short straw here, it isn't you."

Frankly, of all the bad press surrounding his title, it was that one slanderous misconception that Lucifer despised most. The devil did not lie. He had no need to. The truth was terrible enough on its own—a notion that, more often than not, humans were too shortsighted to understand. He suspected that the rare exception was currently sitting across from him. Not that enlightenment freed her from the weight of that burden.

The detective's hand twitched toward the drink he'd poured what seemed an age ago, looking reluctant as ever to concede his point.

But even more reluctant to leave without answers.

One final push. "So what's it to be?"

He was gratified when her hesitation was only slight. "Fine. But I go first."

Lucifer smiled at the caveat, and her mouth pinched, clearly fighting the inclination to return it.

In front of her, the last drink went untouched.

* * *

 **A/N:** I'm starting to realize that all Chloe and Lucifer do in my fics is drink and talk. Ha.


	3. Black Sheep and Hopeless Cases

**A/N:** That's right—another Lucifer update from me today! Send happy thoughts my way that this momentum doesn't drop off.

Real quick: It's already becoming apparent, especially this chapter, but this story is one that's largely geared towards character development. So if you're looking for a driving plotline, you might find yourself a bit underwhelmed. I certainly don't want to discourage anyone reading, but I also don't want to mislead anyone either.

Anyway, back to your regularly scheduled programming….

* * *

 **Chapter 3: Black Sheep and Hopeless Cases**

They started, predictably, with The Eternal Question.

The detective leaned forward, her level gaze ensnaring him from across the bar. "What are you doing here, Lucifer?"

"I'm assuming the intent is less philosophical and more, shall we say, geographic?" In that same vein, he decided he didn't like the space between them and made to join her on the patron side of the bar. "Right. Well, skipping over the Sunday School overtures…. Had a spat with Dad, got sent to the basement for a time out, did an impressively long stint as His master disciplinarian, finally decided to cut that cord—and here I am. In the 'City of Angels.' On vacation. Fighting crime, righting wrongs, raising a little hell, that sort of thing."

"How… biblical." Again with the skepticism.

Lucifer slid onto the seat beside her, wasting no time in claiming the drink she'd previously abandoned. She didn't look thrilled by the sudden proximity, but she didn't move away, either. "Yes, well, don't believe everything you read, Detective. Like I told you, the world's full of misleading propaganda. Don't be another sheep in the flock." The glass froze halfway to his lips as the realization hit him. "Though I suppose if you were, we wouldn't be having this conversation. I have to say, you're taking all of this rather well." Post-meltdown, anyway.

To his surprise, she laughed. "The liquor helped."

He toasted to that. "Always my motto."

"So after _millennia_ —" she stumbled over the word; Lucifer nodded encouragement, pleased that she was finally on board with the immortal concept "—reigning over hell, the king abdicates his throne? Just like that? To open a _nightclub_?"

"Hell's not quite the party it sounds," he told her, truthfully. "Besides, can you think of a better place to spend your sabbatical than at the center of Hedonism's capital?"

"But _why_?" she pushed the original inquiry.

Lucifer shrugged. "Call it an existential crisis. An overdue rebellion of sorts. Got tired of playing my role as black sheep of the family."

"And they just let you?"

"No one _lets_ the devil do anything, Detective." He twirled an empty glass between idle fingers. "But I take your meaning. Certainly the road _from_ hell is much more difficult than the road _to_ it. Had to take out quite a number of my Father's prized fighters in the process, but hey. No use crying over spilled blood, I always say." He glanced over, her astonished silence drawing his attention like a lure. "Oh, believe me, that's just the tip of iceberg. The family squabbles I've endured over the ages would make Jerry Springer's head spin for decades. Much like yours surely is right now."

Indeed, staring blankly somewhere past his face, the detective appeared caught in the ongoing struggle to piece together all the evidence laid before her. Patiently Lucifer waited for her to speak her poor, scattered mind.

He was rewarded at length when she pointed out, "You still punish people." He sensed the unspoken question.

"True, but it's on _my_ terms. Much more satisfying, see?"

It was clear that she did, though she hardly agreed with him. "So all of this is just a giant 'screw you' to your family?"

"That," he confided, "is a just a fringe benefit. This is about me, what _I_ want."

"Which is what, exactly?"

The question caught him off guard him for a variety of reasons, not the least of which was the fact that he couldn't recall ever being asked it before. By someone other than a therapist.

He also had no idea how to begin to answer.

And he didn't have to. "By my count, that's at least three questions I've answered already." Lucifer leaned forward, canines flashing as his smile morphed from languid to feral. " _Quid pro quo_ , Detective."

Her eyebrows pinched but she otherwise remained unfazed. "If the aim of this game is reassurance, you might want to lay off the Hannibal Lecter references. Just a tip."

"Ah, but none of this is about sparing your fragile human feelings. It's about being honest."

Something like grudging respect solidified in the detective's eyes. When she gestured for him to proceed, Lucifer thought it over for only a moment before deciding that he, too, would start with the basics.

"Why aren't you and that ex of yours still together? Not that I blame you," he was quick to add. "You wouldn't have to search long to find a better candidate."

Yet again, Lucifer bore witness to a delightful slew of emotions dancing across her features until, ultimately, incredulity won out. "Seriously? _That's_ what you want to talk about? My love life?"

"Why not? We already put my family under the microscope, and turnabout's fair play. Besides, there's much to be learned from romantic entanglements, especially the unsuccessful ones." Her expression did not improve. "What? Sore subject?"

Her affirmation was predictably acidic. "A bit."

"So what was it?" he plowed on, heedless. "Money troubles? Infidelity? Lame in the sack? Little D not rise to the occasion? Or perhaps a lack of ingenuity? He seems like the sort of uptight, vanilla, missionary type—"

The detective's eyes fell shut on a sigh, her face the picture of exasperation. " _God_."

"Had nothing to do with it, I assure you," finished Lucifer. "Come on, then. Tell me all about how you kicked your ex to the curb, and don't leave out the juicy bits."

"I'd be happy to," she said with faux sweetness, "if I was the one who broke it off."

"No." He gaped at her, and his surprise was entirely genuine. "He ended it? _He_ left _you_?"

"Yeah, sounds much better when you say it," she muttered.

"And he thinks he can do better, is that it?"

"We weren't a good fit."

"And?" he pushed.

"And I guess there's a reason why it's taboo, mixing business with pleasure."

"Perhaps it was less the taboo at fault than it was your taste in partners, which, I must say, has vastly improved as of late. Come on, Detective," he overrode the perfunctory protest. "Dig a little deeper."

"Not much to tell." This time her tone was less clipped, her answer carrying more candor than petulance. "Dan and I… we'd been on the rocks for a while before we actually separated. Disagreed more often than not, especially when it was work-related. Remember what I told you about the Palmetto case?"

"The one that made you the pariah of your department? Yes, I vaguely recall."

"Well, that was hardly the first time we'd been divided on the job. Dan, he… likes an open-and-shut case." She said it as though it explained everything.

Which, actually, it did. "And you like a bit of mystery," he surmised, but she shook her head.

"I wouldn't say I _like_ them so much as I feel compelled to solve them. However deep I have to dig."

An ambition with which Lucifer could wholly sympathize.

"Your ex _is_ an open-and-shut case, Detective. No mystery there whatsoever. I can only assume you stuck it out for your offspring, then?"

" _Trixie_ ," she insisted. "I wanted to do the right thing for her, yes."

"Despite your unhappiness living with a complete prick?"

"I didn't say I was unhappy." She met his gaze squarely, and at last it occurred to him that it wasn't her ex she was defending; it was her choice. He wasn't sure if that made it better or worse. "I guess I don't like giving up on things."

"Even the hopeless cases?"

Her smile was all irony. "Especially those."

Fascinating.

"Now are we done dissecting my failed marriage?" The detective's tone jumped past irritable to accusatory, and idly he wondered if she finally caught on to the number of follow-up questions he'd snuck in. "Or would you like to rub more salt in the wound?"

Lucifer buried a frown. Though on the surface it seemed an innocuous choice of words, for some reason he found that the notion of her ex being an open wound versus a healed one didn't sit well with him. It suggested an ongoing level of attachment that was far beneath her.

And one beneath _him_ , as well. At least, it used to be.

"Don't hate the player, darling," he volleyed back. "Hate the game you wittingly agreed to. Though I suppose you raise a fair point. Yes, I believe we've given Detective Douche more than enough attention today."

"Good," she sidestepped the jab, "because I've got my next question ready."

"By all means. Fire away." A dangerous command, given tonight's history.

"So you already confirmed that super speed's not part of your bag of tricks, but you do have some sort of invulnerability along with your weird, non-Jedi mind mojo—"

"And devilish good looks," he chimed in. "Yes, I'm quite the triple threat."

She ignored that. "What else?"

"Aside from steering wayward detectives in the right direction?" he quipped. "Why don't you move on to your _real_ question?"

"Fine. I still want to know what you did to Jimmy."

Lucifer could have face-palmed. That topic was Boring with a capital B.

But if the detective wanted to waste a turn on surface-level excavation, he wasn't about to dissuade her. "I'm sorry, but _is_ that your actual question? A technicality won't earn you anymore freebies." Only when she answered in the affirmative did he expand. "It's nothing half as horrific as the slideshow of slasher flick scenes flashing through that overactive imagination of yours. Or was it?" he reconsidered, gauging her reaction. "No telling what sorts of dark, depraved manner of ideas lie behind _those_ closed doors."

"Lucifer," she intervened. "Focus."

"Right. Well, if it's your conscience that's got you looking like a sour lemon, you can rest easy, Detective. I did nothing, unfortunately, that would cause permanent, irreparable damage. Didn't get the pleasure. The pathetic, drooling condition you found him in? A coping method of his own creation. A side effect of a weak mind, I'm afraid."

"And the cause?" she probed.

Leaning back on the barstool, Lucifer rested his interlaced fingers upon crossed knees. "Oh, I merely held up the mirror and showed him his future; what deservedly deplorable fate awaits him in hell. A bluff," he admitted, "seeing as I'm topside and not at liberty to dispatch fiery damnation and whatnot myself. Turned out alright in the end, though. Why send the party downstairs when the maggot's doing a bang-up job conjuring his own hell right here on earth?"

"What did you show him, Lucifer?"

"Oh? Haven't I said?" His pause was all theatrics. "I showed him my true form, of course."

"You—what?"

"Don't let this fine packaging fool you, Detective. Beneath the surface lies a face unlike any you've ever known before." Unwittingly, it came out less a boast than a warning.

Which prompted an equally ill-fitting response. "Show me."

"Pardon?"

"Show me," urged the detective. "Like you showed Jimmy."

"My, my. Eager for me to bare all, aren't you?" Lucifer aimed for flippant, but his mouth pinched. "You know, you could at least offer me a biscuit or something if you're going to treat me like some sort of performing monkey."

He felt strangely torn, unsure where this sudden reticence originated. He was no prude; quite the opposite, in fact, and the exhibitionist in him had absolutely no qualms about complying with the request.

And yet there was some other, unknowable factor trapping him in limbo. Something far more complex than his inclination to tease his audience by drawing out the suspense.

Unable to explain the hesitation, Lucifer could only push through it. "Are you sure, Detective? We're already down the rabbit hole, yes, but there's still opportunity to climb out before you hit bottom. There aren't many who behold the true face of the devil and smile about it after."

He didn't know why he bothered asking. He knew exactly how she would respond.

"I'm not most people."

"No," Lucifer agreed easily, already sitting up. "You most certainly are not."

When he felt his eyes burn red as hellfire, he wasn't sure which of them got the bigger thrill.

* * *

 **A/N:** So we are officially past the halfway point, since I am about 90% sure that there will be five chapters total. That being said, I'm warning you guys now that the next update will take a little longer. I'd like to write the remaining chapters in conjunction so that when I do post the next one, hopefully I can post the final one shortly after. I think the pacing will work out better that way, too. Thanks to everyone for your continued support and patience—and special thanks to Wench359 for the helpful grammar tip. See you guys at the finish line!


	4. Party Tricks and Interested Parties

**A/N:** So… yeah. Sorry I dropped off the map for a while. Real life problems and writer's block are the worst, aren't they? At least the drought's finally over. Speaking of which… HAPPY LUCIFER WEEK! Here's hoping this season proves to be every bit as inspirational as the first.

Before we start, I'd like to dedicate this chapter to Grym, whose wonderful words of encouragement are the reason it even exists. Seriously, you're the best :)

Now on with the story!

* * *

 _ **Previously on QPQD…**_

" _I'm not most people."_

" _No," Lucifer agreed easily, already sitting up. "You most certainly are not."_

 _When he felt his eyes burn red as hellfire, he wasn't sure which of them got the bigger thrill._

* * *

 **Chapter 4: Party Tricks and Interested Parties**

He expected awe. Revulsion. A delightful cocktail of intrigue, fear, and respect. And for a moment, the fiery glow reflected in those wide eyes lit up the gutted walls of Lux as though the party had never stopped.

But in the end, what he got was:

"Wait, that's it?"

Like wind abandoning sails, Lucifer's gaze cooled back to the dusky brown of his human visage.

"No offense," the detective added none too quickly. "I appreciate the party trick, but I really don't see how that left Jimmy barely able to string a sentence together."

Oh, right. _That._

It had been impulsive, just now, the decision to reveal no more than a taste of his true form. Impulsive, but smart. Subtlety hardly did him justice, but experience was a powerful teacher, and he was hardly keen to scar another human for life. Especially this particular one. Especially before he put this case to bed—figuratively, if not literally.

"Merely a glimpse of the man behind the curtain," offered Lucifer, when it hit him. "You were expecting horns, tail, pitchfork, the whole nine yards, weren't you?" Nine _circles_ , more like.

The detective teetered a bit on her barstool. "Ah, maybe less Looney Tunes and more… I don't know. Something."

Something, indeed. She had no idea. And he had no plans to enlighten her. Tonight wasn't the night to test the limits of her bravery.

And his—well.

"Sorry to disappoint, but I did warn you not to believe everything you hear. Now," he couldn't resist, "since I gave you my full confession about Jimmy Barnes, Show and Tell bonus included, is this the part where you toss me into a cell? Or were you being a tease like you are wont to do?"

"I'm sorry, is that your question?" she fired back.

"Why won't you sleep with me, Detective?"

Her mouth fell open; his picked up the slack, curving upward. " _What_?"

"What?" he parroted. "Naturally, I'm talking about before your epiphany concerning my infamous alter ego. Unless my _party trick_ just upped the ante in my favor?" He regarded her with mounting appreciation. "What, do you have a thing for bad boys as well, Detective, or is it only vanilla cops who strike your fancy?"

"Seriously, Lucifer? What is it with you and my love life?"

"Sorry, I don't follow."

She rolled her eyes heavenward. "Of course you don't."

"I mean, I've got all my charms and features." He began ticking them off. "Successful businessman. Humanitarian. Hardy Boy to your Nancy Drew—"

"Narcissist. Hedonist. Amateur wannabe-cop—"

That only increased the wattage of his smile. "Not to mention I've got expertise that makes the Kama Sutra look like some Judy Blume knockoff. Come on, then," he fished. "What _would_ it take to get you into bed? You can tell me. I won't hold it against you." Not unless she asked nicely.

But her stony expression did not lend hope for such optimism. Not until it dissolved with the crook of her finger.

Lucifer complied at once, leaning forward until warm breath ghosted across his ear:

" _A lobotomy_."

He pulled away laughing. Her unwavering gall was, more than ever, a diamond amongst coal.

That, and her repeated attempts to convey how unimpressive she found him spoke more about her own shortcomings than his, he felt. "Really, Detective? That's how you're going to play it?"

"Don't hate the player," she stole his line. "But hey, if the truth's getting too boring, I could always whip out my gun again."

"I do love it when you talk dirty." Another undeserved eye roll. "You know, for a woman who readily revealed her spectacular assets in her youth, you can be maddeningly prudish off-camera. Sounds like I'm not the only one who would benefit from therapy."

"Besides," she sidestepped the landmine, "I know a cover story when I hear one, Lucifer, and I think we both know a one night stand isn't your endgame. Not really. Not unless you _want_ to alienate what I can only guess is the first person you've opened up to in eons."

"Your unsolicited insight on the devil's psyche is duly noted, but I already have a therapist, thank you."

"One who was quick to point out how disturbed you are that I don't fall for your crap." Suddenly her gaze tapered off, disappearing somewhere past his shoulder. "But why don't I?"

When the detective said nothing more, Lucifer waved an impatient hand in her line of vision. "Hello? Anybody home? Did you have that lobotomy, after all? _I_ just asked _you_ that very question."

"I mean," she directed her annoyance point-blank, "why don't I fit the profile? Chemistry or no chemistry is one thing, but why doesn't your creepy eye hocus pocus work on me like it does everyone else?"

"Now that," he chirped, "is the question of the millennium, isn't it?"

Just like that, sans pomp and circumstance, there it was. The crux of the entire endeavor. Foreplay officially over. Lucifer actually felt the briefest twinge of regret.

Then again, there would be time enough to poke fun at the secret contents of his opponent's nightstand drawer at a later date. Now, to business. And so much the better that it was on _her_ dime.

"Much as I'm glad to see I'm no longer the only interested party, the answer is regrettably above my paygrade." Lucifer dropped the lure casually, deliberately, before he sought about reeling in his catch. "But I do thank you, Detective, for taking it easy on me this round. Very gallant of you."

Predictably, her resolve didn't diminish. "What do you mean, above your paygrade?"

"I'm in the dark here, same as you. Downside of going rogue? Less Intel. More headaches, too," he added with a wink. "Freedom's a bit of a mixed bag, so I've learned."

"And it's really never happened before? This… selective power hiccup?"

"Nope."

"Well, surely a smart guy like you must have a lead?"

"Flattery will get you everywhere, Detective. But no," he admitted, "not a lead, per se. More like an untested hypothesis. Suffice to say that my time on earth has been rather… enlightening. Revolutionary, actually. It's even been suggested that—are you ready for this?—the devil is suffering from a disease called _humanity_."

"That—" She shook her head. "Wait, suggested by who?"

"My brother, Amenadiel. Good solider of the family. Boring, uptight chap, and biblical storm on my parade. You'd like him." Pause. "Oh, and Maze."

"Your bartender? What does she have to do with—wait. Back up. You have a _brother_?"

"Nothing to brag about, I promise you. Bigger leech than an Avon saleswoman, always angling to get me back into the family business. To that end, he's less than thrilled about my recent extracurricular activities. Thinks I'm drinking the local Kool-Aid, becoming a has-been, that sort of thing." Lucifer rolled his shoulders back. "His problem, not mine."

"But aren't you?" The detective sounded unsure. "Going back eventually? Vacations don't last forever."

"No, they don't," he agreed.

Without thought, his hand itched toward his pocket, toward the concealed object that never left his person. A small, but significant heirloom. His one-way ticket back downstairs.

 _And no, Detective. I'm not._

That decision was forged in fire and blood years ago, but there was no denying that something fundamental had shifted since. And Lucifer knew nothing beyond that the reason was currently at his side, unconsciously, undoubtedly, _literally_ frustrating the hell out of him. Perhaps he had miscalculated. Perhaps she was getting a closer look at the devil than either of them bargained for.

Perhaps he wasn't quite so _thrilled_ , after all.

 _Usually you're the one controlling the change. This time you're not. Now does that scare you? Because it should._

Loathe as he was to concede the point, it was fast becoming clear that his holier-than-thou brother had spoken more wisdom than rubbish that day. Excitement was one thing and fear quite another, but they were not competitors; they were accomplices fueled by this crippling obsession. For this ease with which he forfeited control and allowed another to dictate who and what he was— _that_ was a feeling with which Lucifer was already well acquainted.

And had left far, far behind at the gates of hell.

Who was this enigmatic woman? Was she heaven-sent, cloaked by some sort of divine immunity? Or was it, in fact, _humanity_ digging its hooks into him, stripping the devil of his power—and around her most of all? Was this all a demonstration of one mortal's influence or merely a failing of his own? Where exactly did the anomaly lie?

Lucifer's fingers teased the lining of his pocket; slipped inside, searching. "What are you doing to me, Detective?"

"Me?" Surprise tempered ire. "You're blaming your random bout of telepathic impotence on _me_?"

"Oh, nicely put."

"Thank you."

"And _yes._ "

"You're the one who abandoned your post," she parried. "Maybe it's true, then. Maybe you're just… adapting."

"To you and no one else?" Lucifer shook his head. "Despite whatever midlife crisis I'm experiencing, the variable in this equation isn't me, it's you."

The truth, though not entirely truthful. His metamorphosis had taken off like a runaway train since the onset of their association, and while logic dictated that there must be a connection between them, correlation hardly proved causality.

"You don't sound so sure," she observed.

Having finally reached its goal, Lucifer's hand toyed with the token in his pocket, long gone cold in its neglect. For a game meant to highlight a pair's mutual fascination, he rather felt that this juncture had only widened the gulf. "Yes, well, this scenario is all very chicken versus egg, and truth be told, I've always despised those irritating philosophical conundrums. My Dear Old Dad's twisted sense of humor, as it were." _Just like the devil's existence_ , he held back. A design flawed from the dawn of creation.

For true power, true freedom, had always eluded him. Human desire was his artistic medium, but never his creation. He merely crafted it, exposed it. Another _party trick_. And a fat lot of good that handicap was against the paragon of complexity before him. Per her own words, he couldn't extract from her what didn't exist.

Except—

Surely it must?

If not carnal fascination—which, definitely keeping a pin in _that_ —then something else. Every mortal courted sin. Every lock had a key. He simply had to work with a different medium to find it. One they'd been crafting all evening.

And he knew exactly where to start.

"You've got a bit of a dark side, don't you? Oh, don't bother answering. That was rhetorical."

Lucifer swiveled his barstool, facing the bewildered detective head-on. The better to lay siege to an imminent defense.

"See," he ventured, "if there's one thing in this world that _El Diablo_ understands, it's this. Comes with the gig. Everyone possesses some manner of depravity, whether trivial or criminal, freely expressed or lying dormant, waiting to manifest. Even you, for all the faulty wiring in that head of yours.

"You like evidence, Detective? Let's have a little look-see."

Without warning, he shot out of his chair and began outlining a semi-circle around his captive audience, burying his hands deeper in the velvety folds of his (ruined) Armani.

"You've built an entire career around catching liars, thieves, murderers, the lowest of the low, the scourge of the earth; and while there is nobility in fighting the good fight, in getting justice for the little guys, the doe-eyed damsels, and young whipper-snappers, you can't tell me that there's no part of you that relishes the other side of that coin: ensuring that the vermin responsible get their just desserts. From one punisher to another, I get it. It's dark, it's ugly, but there it is. Perhaps," he tacked on, "that's the very reason you became a detective in the first place. To control your demons. Except that doesn't always work out, does it?"

"Sounds like someone's projecting."

Lucifer never broke stride, though the totem in his pocket suffered further the burden of idle fingers. "Take tonight, for example. You had an inkling that it wasn't lies Space Case was pedaling about me, and what did you do? You didn't put your faith in that fragile little system you cops cling to. No, you took matters into your own hands. You sought me out with intent, you _shot_ me, and even after accepting what I am, you _still_ didn't turn away. In fact," he closed in, "you asked for a closer look. At the devil himself."

"I told you," the detective spoke with equal precision, "that when I see something I can't explain, I look for answers. Speaking of which, is there a _question_ hidden somewhere in that ridiculous character assessment?"

"Getting there."

Then Lucifer rocked on his heels a bit, making no visible effort at haste. His competitor might be the professional interrogator-slash-actress, but it was a role he found he was adopting quite brilliantly. Swap the bar for a two-way mirror, cue a spotlight on the perp, roll cameras on this flawless performance, and bam! Say hello to Hollywood's latest, greatest sex symbol.

Suddenly his hand clamped shut, sealing his obol within a cage of flesh. "Given all that I've learned about you in the last twenty-four hours alone—your salacious history; your surprisingly fickle regard for the law; your understandable fixation on yours truly; all that dark potential rolling around inside you—" He thoroughly enjoyed the fresh batch of imagery that conjured up. "Riddle me this, Detective: Why did you put a stop to my punishment tonight? Why not simply let that dung beetle end his former protégée?

"Or better yet," Lucifer forged on, in spite of the chill spreading through his palm and beyond, "if you were so determined to thwart his act of vengeance, why not fulfill your own—why not put a bullet in your old paparazzo pal yourself?"

* * *

 **A/N:** Lucifer's getting a bit reflective, isn't he? Hmm. I have to say, being in his head-space for so long is exhausting. Incredibly fun, but exhausting. So yeah. I really hope this turned out okay.

I have a decent amount of the rest of this story written so hopefully the wait won't be nearly as painful as the last one. I also decided to split the final chapter due to length, so now we've actually got two more to go. Until next time—thanks for sticking with me!


	5. Righteous Indignation and Effective Ammu

**A/N:** Five months. FIVE. Wow, I suck. Seriously, why do you guys put up with me? If it helps, my laptop charger just met an early grave and as I don't yet have the replacement, I'm literally using the very last of my battery to give you guys this chapter (9% as I type this, yikes). So have mercy on me? Maybe? Please?

* * *

 _ **Previously on QPQD…**_

" _Riddle me this, Detective: Why did you put a stop to my punishment tonight? Why not simply let that dung beetle end his former protégée?_

" _Or better yet," Lucifer forged on, in spite of the chill spreading through his palm and beyond, "if you were so determined to thwart his act of vengeance, why not fulfill your own—why not put a bullet in your old paparazzo pal yourself?"_

* * *

 **Chapter 5: Righteous Indignation and Effective Ammunition**

"I really should've added a proviso or two before this whole inquisition kicked off," he lamented in the beckoning silence. "You know, a sort of penance for if one of us fails to answer a question. Like… naked bartending. Naked line dancing. Running around the block naked. Or… well. You get the idea."

The detective blinked. Once, twice. "What—?" And a third time. "What on earth have I done to make you think I'm capable of cold-blooded murder?"

Always lovely, that righteous indignation. Like a favorite tune supplying the hordes of Lux and truthfully, he could dance all night.

Instead, Lucifer resumed an arc around his quarry.

"Call it a public service," he tossed over his shoulder. "Ridding the world of a bottom-feeder that wouldn't be missed by anyone but his gluttonous tabloid consumers. I can see the headline now: Hero Cop Takes Out Trash, Keeps City Clean. The fan mail practically writes itself, doesn't it?"

"Nick Hofmeister deserves a lot of things, but I'm pretty sure that's not what the law means by 'justifiable homicide.'"

"A flesh wound, then. He _did_ have a gun on an unarmed civilian," he recalled the protégé—an apple even more toxic than the tree from whence it fell. "Just in case you needed the added incentive."

"A weapon's discharge is the _last_ resort, Lucifer, not the first."

Typical police propaganda.

"And seriously, would you give it a rest with the lame interrogation bit? I'm a cop. I know the tricks, and this?" Her finger followed the narrow perimeter sketched by his feet. "Not working."

"Oh, I don't know. Based on your deer-in-headlights audition a moment ago, I'd say I got your feathers nice and fluffed. Fur? Feathers?" he deliberated aloud. "Mixed metaphors aside, I speak the truth."

"Your truth, maybe. Not mine."

"So you're saying," he redirected, "that even if you faced no consequences whatsoever for the deed, you'd still leave the dung beetle unscathed? Despite the scar he left on _your_ person?"

"I am not," repeated the detective, "about to shoot someone out of a personal vendetta."

"No?" Lucifer gave an innocent tug on his lapel, unable to resist. "My good pal Giorgio Armani would beg to differ. Tell me, does that little act of villainy make me the exception to the rule… or the rule itself?"

Her mouth pinched, legs crossed. Contrary to recent criticism, it was almost too easy, this solo sleuthing business.

She did not yield.

"Why not exorcise your demon tonight?" he prodded again. "Why try to disarm him with words alone? Why the act of mercy?"

"Not mercy. Protocol."

Again with the cop drivel. A shield already rusting.

"Yes, Hammurabi's Code is hardly the LAPD slogan. Got it. Checked that box. Bought the T-shirt." He halted in front of her. "I applaud you for sticking to your guns, Detective—not literally, of course—but if it was a lesson in legality I was after, I'd pop over to Harvard and ask Reese Witherspoon."

One step forward.

"What I am asking," he spelled out, "is why you, Chloe Decker, fought so hard to spare the bastard who gatecrashed a man's funeral for nothing more than a cheap cover shot of his acclaimed, grieving daughter."

"It isn't vengeance that interests me, Lucifer. I told you. I'm not that girl anymore." Steady conviction, but every word struck like hammered steel.

Which he employed like armor. "Who we are—it's hardly a choice. Hate to break it to you, Detective, but free will? An illusion. The greatest lie in all of creation, designed to placate the fevered masses when really, we're all just marching to Dear Ol' Dad's drum. Playing whatever pitiful hand we're dealt."

"Says the world's leading expert on _rebellion_."

"Because that's who I am. Case in point."

"And what point is that, exactly? That I should follow your free-thinking footsteps? Shoot first, ask questions later—if ever?"

"I try to leave judgments to the non-black sheep of the family tree. No, I'm merely suggesting that Neo take the red pill. Set aside the great debate of Should vs. Shouldn't and simply face what _is_. I saw your _eyes_. I heard your _voice_." He wasn't sure where it was coming from, this fixed course, this swift sincerity, but it spurred him onward like a sinner towards fiery damnation.

He inched closer still. "You weren't spouting some flowery, pre-programmed cop sermon to talk a criminal off a ledge. You were entirely in earnest, every word. You thought your nemesis a changed man. A _better_ man. I need to know _why_."

The shift was immediate, catching both parties unawares. Lucifer could feel it in his bones; could see it in the relaxing angles of the detective's posture, the swell of her puzzled pout, the shine of softening eyes that hid nothing but the most coveted of secrets.

Damn it all, he'd tipped his own hand.

"You… really see the worst in everyone, don't you?"

"Apparently it isn't only trigger-happy cops that fall victim to occupational hazard." Still clutching his pocket-sized medallion, he buried it deeper in a frigid fist.

"People _can_ change, Lucifer."

Not this again.

But her aim felt as spot-on as the bullet designed to bleed the truth from him.

"Yes, and men the world over are still weeping for a certain young starlet who left the limelight." She did not take the bait. "Sure, change is possible—Botox here, nose job there—but human nature? _That's_ eternal. Trust the expert. What you're talking about—redemption? More often than not, it's nothing but a sinner's pipedream. Exhibit A: Your charity case, Nick? He blew his shot. Literally. Plucked the bullet out of midair myself."

"Thanks to your angelic brother slowing down time?" she recalled with no less skepticism.

"Believe me, no one was more surprised by Big Bro's divine intervention than me, but he does have his moments… once or twice a millennium. So you see, Detective," he rallied, "you gave the poor dung beetle far too much credit. You didn't toss him a lifeline. You gave him just enough rope to hang himself."

"And _you_ , Mr. Cynic? What's your excuse for stepping in and saving Josh, then?" She was regarding him with such budding intensity that his next rejoinder didn't make it past the gates.

Oh, he knew that look. She had caught a scent.

"Who were you really trying to save, Lucifer? Nick from crossing a line he couldn't come back from? Me from having to take him out? Or…" The thought evaporated, as did the remaining feeling in Lucifer's locked grasp. His shoulder prickled, burned.

Like a weeping wound.

The detective smiled. "So you _do_ get it."

"Get what?"

"What it means to be human. Have hope. Grow. Embrace who you really are," she quoted him, amending with, "or who you're meant to become."

So simple, that sentiment. Almost unforgivably naïve. Yet there she sat, proud as a queen atop her throne, even as he still towered above her.

Slowly Lucifer sank onto the adjacent barstool. "So sure, are you, Detective, that such hope exists for the devil himself?"

"Jury's still out on that one," she admitted. "But you're right about one thing, at least. I _do_ like evidence. So help me out—"

He stopped her there, recognizing the echo of a familiar challenge. "Do me a favor. No more boring questions please. Like how hot I kept the sauna, or which insipid celebrities greased whose palms to make the downstairs VIP list. Might sound spicy, but trust me: guaranteed mood-killer."

"Have you ever saved anyone? Besides me?"

Phantom pain once again stabbed his shoulder, and it seemed the most natural thing in the world when his gaze fell to the sling supporting hers. Were he human, no doubt they would sport twin scars—evidence, so it would seem, of a bond in the making. Something Lucifer had questioned since its inception. It only made sense that the detective did the same.

Except that she showed little concern for the significance of her own life; she cared more about the impulse that had saved it.

A gust of laughter snatched his attention, and idly Lucifer wondered how long he'd allowed his thoughts free rein. "Is this the part where you run around the block naked?"

"Is that a proposition?" he latched on. "Because while I'm up for anything, allow me to lay the disclaimer that it's quite brisk outside, which, as I'm sure you know, can have a devastating effect on—"

"Do not," she held up a hand, "finish that sentence."

"You opened that box, Pandora."

"Just answer the damn question."

"No."

"Oh come on, don't be a sore loser. _Quid pro quo_ , Lucifer."

"I'm not refusing to answer, Clarice, I _am_ answering."

The detective cocked her head, frowning. "So… you've never saved anyone before? Ever? Until me?"

"Nope. You popped that cherry. Don't look so surprised," for she did, sincerely. "Need I remind you that I was a bit preoccupied until my recent sabbatical? Punishing deviant souls didn't exactly leave me much time for side hobbies, I'm afraid, heroic or otherwise."

"A lot can change in five years."

"Oh, indeed." Lucifer leaned back, adjusting his view. "I can't help but notice, however, that you seem strangely determined to prove that. Tell me, does it make you feel better? Knowing you've been consorting with the devil so long as he comes in a newly minted, semi-refurbished model?"

"Does it make _you_ feel better? Defining yourself by an outdated title? Falling back on a role you've always played _because_ you've always played it?"

"Have a care. Just because I saved your life hardly makes you an expert on mine." The wall of ice spread from his fist to his speech so quickly, recklessly, it was a miracle neither of them had freezer burn. "We're not talking days of misspent youth, nor the token metaphor you humans toss around like free iPods. _Hell_ , Detective. Demons. Torture. Horrors you can't fathom. Living nightmares stretching through infinite time and space.

"You think your line of work is grim?" he continued the assault. "It's Christmas in Disney World on uppers compared to mine—a career I crafted for millennia. And you want to talk about _change_? Had you any idea where I've been, what I'm capable of, you wouldn't think the word, let alone offer it like some saccharine cure-all. Or worse, a prayer. And see?" He flashed a smile that could cut diamonds. "What did I tell you? Mood-killer."

"You left," came the counterstrike, and it was evident that his warnings had crashed and burned as much now as they had with Maze. "You chose to leave all that behind and you're going to claim you're no different for it? Bull. Exhibit A: saving my life. Exhibit B: Nick and Josh's. Exhibit C: Delilah—"

"Oh yes, now there's a Lifetime movie for the ages. Struggling young ingénue crosses paths with yours truly, is thrust down the path to stardom only to be gunned down by a bitter ex the moment she decides to go straight. Role credits."

"You gave her a chance. The rest isn't on you." His combatant was defending her territory as though she'd sooner accept an early grave than forfeit one inch of headway. For the first time, his appreciation of her 'hopeless cases' fetish fell flat. "The day we met, you told me you had no control over people's choices. Their sins. That's on _us_. Are you telling me you somehow gained that ability since our first case?"

"I'm telling you that your delusions of grandeur where I am concerned are wildly, dare I say _hilariously_ misguided."

"Please. I don't have you on some pedestal, Lucifer. I'm just following the advice _you_ gave me that same day—trusting my instincts."

"Oh? And they're telling you to be my personal cheerleader, is that it? You and Dr. Martin should start a fan club—"

"Actually, right now they're telling me that you're full of crap."

Lucifer said nothing, assessing her spike in anger. Marveling at the sudden absence of his own. An advantage she did not waste.

"This whole… mysterious, smoke and mirrors, Jekyll and Hyde routine is pretty much your MO, I know that, but there gets to be a point where enough is enough—and we're there. I'm tired of being jerked around," she burst out, and all his uncertainty yielded in the face of triumph because _finally_. He'd done it. Achieved a level of vitriol not even her former stalker could inspire. Affected her on some deep, primal level no longer dammed behind a wall of denial or professionalism or a mountain of mental acuity.

"You put in all this leg work to win me over, and for what?" she demanded. "To become partners? Seduce me? Dissect my brain? But the minute I actually start believing in you, you throw on the brakes. Default to tired intimidation tactics. Probe me about my Achilles' heel so you don't have to talk about yours. Humans have a word for that, too. Fear.

"So yeah, maybe you _are_ plagued by humanity. And maybe, somehow, I _am_ to blame." But concession was merely a guise; those words heralded victory. "You know what, though? It doesn't matter. Because whatever is going on, it all comes down to you. Your choices, your consequences, your identity crisis. I'm not interested in who the _devil_ is, Lucifer," she declared. "Saint, sinner, or something in between—I'm interested in evidence, not typecasting. So stop painting me as some deluded romantic with a redemption complex. Don't ignore what's right in front of you just because it might lead somewhere you aren't ready to go. And don't you dare tell me to swallow a reality pill if you aren't willing to do the same."

" _Detective_."

An army of cogent arguments at his disposal and that was his sole defense, for battle lines were already breaking with the alarming skirr of barstools.

To his astonishment, she stopped. Then looked back at him— _through_ him, like a shade, a stranger, and that alone was worse than a handful of her barbs. But it wasn't until she uttered, "I bet you regret saving me now, don't you?" that he understood the magnitude of his folly.

It wasn't vitriol she fired at him. Never was. Some far more effective ammunition. Something he didn't think himself capable of eliciting from anyone outside family. Trigging something far from pride.

Carefully Lucifer attempted to navigate through the minefield, though in truth the nightclub had never felt more like a graveyard. Their skirmish, short as it was, had left a world of dead space between them—a change he found he could not abide. "If you truly believe that, Detective, then I suppose it's a good thing you're done waving your pom-poms for Team Lucifer. Despite the tempting visual."

Not even a hint of a smile. "I wasn't, you know… already _dead_ when you saved me, was I?"

"Your overestimation of my capabilities is, once again, misplaced." Not an accusation this time. "I don't have those sorts of strings to pull. It was all very… by the book." Very _human_ , he didn't say.

Aware of the point she was really driving at, and the reason behind it, Lucifer expanded. "You can relax, Freddie Mercury. Beelzebub does _not_ have a devil put aside for you. And while I do enjoy the idea of you in my debt, I traffic in favors, not souls… and you can walk out of here knowing you owe me neither."

"So it didn't cost me anything. Good to know." Instead of pulling away, she looked at him— _really_ looked at him. "And you?"

"Pardon?"

"Did it cost _you_ anything?"

"Besides a series of migraines?" Not entirely in jest, for there was no denying that her life had already cost him a great deal.

Sanity. Identity. An unforeseeable number of hours on Dr. Freud's couch—

 _You don't know what's causing the change. Or who._

What little remained of his family's respect—

 _You saved a human life… simply because you cared about that detective._

The steadfast confidence of his most loyal shadow—

 _She'll be your ruin._

A grain of truth, perhaps.

 _Embrace who you really are._

But he liked his chances.

Inside his pocket, muscles flexed as pinpricks of awareness stabbed at thawing digits. His guarded heirloom, hell's fare and final tether, was all but forgotten.

 _Who you're meant to become._

Without warning or mercy that mantra filled him, dazed him, gripped him tight, pulled him from his very skin, rearranged the very stars—beacons he'd hardly glimpsed before, let alone aspired. Not until he'd stumbled into this lovely, albeit vexing, shepherdess's path. Or was it the other way around?

His empty hand retreated from his pocket altogether.

"Cost, Detective?" Lucifer held her eyes, at once impervious and engaging, nebulous and more clear than ever before. Reflecting treasures far more precious than secrets. "Nothing I can't live without."

Being who he was, it was the truth.

And being who she was, she stayed.

* * *

 **A/N:** Stand by for some unsolicited rambling…or you know, skip it. If you want. Or not, maybe?

So yeah. By far the hardest chapter to date. And the longest. Some truth bombs dropping at this story's climax, and I really hope the balance of Luci's self-doubt and quasi-acceptance is believable. Some context: When I first saw Episode 2 (boy, how long ago that feels now), I couldn't help but think that Lucifer was a bit too comfortable too quickly with all the changes thrown at him, which provided the original inspiration to flesh out that emotional journey a bit more. I'll let you all decide on the success/failure of that come the final chapter. Speaking of which…

Guys, here's the deal. I really, _really_ wanted to give you this chapter and the final chapter all at once. Dragging this out only makes for frustrated readers and disrupts the pacing of the story. Believe me, I know—the writer's guilt is ALL TOO REAL. I've been working on chapter six the past several weeks, and so far it's boiled down to the following process: churn out a few sentences, say "wow, that was crap," delete, retry, delete, bang my head on the keyboard, take a nap. Lather, rinse, repeat. Don't get me wrong: I _have_ made progress, and I absolutely _will_ finish. Let's just hope I don't go insane first.

In lieu of going insane, however, I've kept my head in the game by doing some editing on the previously posted chapters (which, admittedly, turned into a bit of a distraction in itself). No major changes, mostly just tweaked sentence structuring and diction. Frankly, it needed to be done, and when I get my hands on my new laptop charger, I'll have them posted. Oh, and I'm adding chapter titles. Just because.

Any happy thoughts you can send my way would be appreciated like you have no idea. And as always, thank you for your continued support and patience, and I look forward to seeing everybody at the finish line.


	6. Detective's Decision and Devil's Desire

**A/N:** Small side note…. Apparently, in my (very outdated and/or misinformed) head-canon, Lux has some windows… somewhere. Not that there's any great plot significance in that deviation.

Anyway, carry on.

* * *

 **Chapter 6: Detective's Decision and Devil's Desire**

For the first time since Hurricane Decker had made landfall, there was peace. Of a sort.

The fallout was… well, not devastating, but certainly immense in its own right. Startling in its immutable clarity. Swaddling the room like a starless night sky and rendering its victims blind, grappling for purchase. Even Emily Post would have trouble steering this ship out of the danger zone.

"So." The missive trembled across the void, a mere breath away. "That got intense. Truce?"

Air fled lungs like a caged beast breaking free. Like a spell broken. "Best idea you've had all evening, Detective."

She followed it up with one even better, and Lucifer wasted no time rejoining her at the bar.

Casting a sidelong glance, he found his memory ensnared by déjà vu. How long ago it seemed that they had sat exactly so, riddling over the intricacies of their connection during that first case, casting a spotlight on truths barely excavated, completely unaware how the dominos would fall and circle right back to the beginning. Not much had changed since that fateful day; and yet, everything had.

Without warning, a spotlight lit them up in earnest.

Sunlight.

Of course.

The silent intruder breached his hallow halls with all the subtlety of cannon fire, shadows yielding to pinks and whites and golds. The timing was so serendipitous it could only be his Father's twisted sense of humor at play, yet again. The implication, however, was without dispute.

Lucifer could feel it; knew his companion could likewise, a halo of fresh dawn framing those perceptive features. Their evening of candor had all but run its course.

"Not to make this the shortest ceasefire in history, but indulge my curiosity one last time." The detective perked, turning. "Are you going to miss your blissfully ignorant view of the cosmos? Starting to wish you'd taken the blue pill instead?"

"My worldview was already complicated without your help. Though you definitely add a certain… something."

"Well," he marveled, watching a smile overtake her pensive countenance. "It's about time my influence got a proper reaction from you. I think this calls for a parade, but I'll settle for a toast. You?"

"I think I'm done adding alcohol to this particular equation. It's funny," she continued. "I actually _do_ feel better just knowing I'm not crazy and you're not just some nut-job who _thinks_ he's the devil."

"As opposed to the real deal? My, you are a fascinating creature."

Watching her laugh, something ballooned inside his chest. A momentary balm, borrowing time already spent.

Outside, the sun slowly continued its ascent until Lux well lived up to its name.

"Now what?"

"You mean where do we go following our little heart to heart?" he translated. "I suppose that would depend on what meaning this evening has had for you."

"What about you?" she asked instead. "Did you find what you were looking for?"

"Your mind is, as ever, an enigma." Surrender that lacked its bitter aftertaste.

Because something _was_ fundamentally different. Lacking. Lighter. Better, definitely better.

The vexation, the unflagging cynicism, the blind ambition for a scandalous snapshot to out-scavenge the most ravenous of paparazzo vultures…. Gone. Relegated to the deepest pit of hell. Along with all else he'd purged from his identity.

Whatever was responsible, that freedom was a drug.

"Hold out your hand."

The detective stared at him, unmoving. "Why?"

"Because I thought it would be an excellent opener for a cheap line culminating in a night of torrid passion." Proudly Lucifer noted her improvement at masking irritation. That, or it was absent entirely. "A little trust, please," he said seriously. "I'm answering your question. Free of charge, I might add."

"It's something G-rated, right?" But she offered her hand, regardless.

"Well, I wouldn't go giving it to the Pope, but yes. Safe for our purposes. What I want—" He fished around his pocket. "—is for you to hold onto this for me."

With nary a flourish, Lucifer produced his intricately carved, albeit unremarkable coin. A remnant of an unremarkable former life.

Then, like Pinocchio severing idle strings, he dropped it into her waiting palm.

Instantaneous relief.

Warmth attacked his fingertips, spiderwebbed through his hands, his limbs, awakening parts he hadn't even known were numb. He greeted the feeling like an old friend.

 _Thrill_.

"I'll be very cross if you lose that," though the warning was only half-sincere. "So don't go selling it on eBay, understand?"

"What _is_ it?"

"My Pentecostal coin. Very old, very rare, extremely valuable… for certain clientele." In her case, a trinket, nothing more.

Still dubious, the detective turned the coin over and over between curious fingers, hunting for clues.

"I know it's not as flashy as a friendship bracelet, but consider it a token of our enduring, mutual affection. A consummation of sorts. Between partners."

That snapped her hand shut like a vise. "Now wait a second—"

But by now Lucifer recognized the difference between a proper refusal and a thinly veiled attempt at reinforcing old boundaries. And he wasn't about to let her off the hook. Period.

"Don't pretend like you didn't know where this was headed. You're not that good an actress." The corners of his mouth relaxed. "Face it, Detective. You've got a devil on your shoulder. For better or worse."

"My money's definitely on the latter." She exhaled deeply. Then sealed her fate. "But yeah. Okay."

"That's it? No tirade, no stomping your feet?"

"Thing is," she said, almost defensively, "when you're not driving me up a wall, we actually make a pretty good team. You have my back. You get the job done. And I might question your methods sometimes, but not your motives. Not anymore. I can work with that."

Lucifer blinked at her. "Well, Detective. I'm impressed."

"Seriously, though," she went on, and he just knew the other shoe was about to drop. "What are you getting out of this… partnership, anyway?"

"Hard for you to say, wasn't it?"

"Don't tell me it's because you're bored," she stuck to her guns. "I know there's more to it than that."

"You're not wrong." Beyond that, he had nothing substantial to offer. And not because he was freed from the obligation.

"Some things, however," he found himself saying, "are mysteries even to immortal ol' me."

He saw in her eyes a world of understanding that far belied her short years.

Until her fingers unfurled again, revealing his golden gift like a cracked treasure chest. "At least tell me what this really is. I won't laugh," she teased.

"No, you wouldn't," he agreed, but his tone was a foil of hers. "Perhaps one day, I might be inclined to give up that state secret."

"'One day?' Have you run out of guts to spill?"

"I won't deny you made a good case before, Detective, but this isn't about fear. It's about faith."

"Mine or yours?"

He almost smiled. "Call it a mutual investment."

But the longer he lingered on that inimitable bit of currency, Lucifer couldn't help but wonder at its true value. At his wager's bargaining power. For a daring moment, he allowed himself to dream a litany of impossible dreams.

Trust without fear. Kinship without deceit. Hope without strings. He couldn't phrase it beyond mere vagaries and pretty prose, but whatever he sought, he was pretty damn sure where he would find it.

At that, another piece of the puzzle fell into place.

Had he really been so foolish as to assume that one mortal's allure was as simple as her uncanny resistance to his charms? Irrefutable proof was in her hand. That dull scrap of metal might as well have been a mirror.

Getting the devil himself to own his desires— _that_ was the true power of Chloe Decker.

Returning to the present, Lucifer found that she wasn't looking at him anymore. He followed her eye line beyond the transient walls of their refuge.

"Sun's up," she announced, unnecessarily. "Work starts in a couple hours."

He took the cue, standing at the same time she did. "Be seeing you soon, then."

"Right."

And then, rather unceremoniously, she was walking out of his club.

Not out of his life.

Rome wasn't built in a day—or a night, as the case may be. Undoubtedly a masterpiece such as the one they were crafting encompassed the artistry of well over a dozen Coliseums. And now that time was no longer their enemy….

Let the real games begin.

At the threshold, the detective hesitated. Pivoted. Called back one last time. "Don't think I'll forget, Lucifer." A flash of sunlight as she flaunted his coin like a prize. A trophy shared by two victors. "I'm holding you to that answer. One day."

"Oh yes, I know." He smiled at his partner, just as brightly. " _Quid pro quo_."

 _ **~ * Fin * ~**_

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 **A/N:** That's all, folks! A year and many rough patches later, I can finally mark this story complete. Thanks for reading!


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